


what happens in republic city (won’t stay in republic city)

by thebluestspirit



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra, Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Aang is still the Avatar AU, Alternate Universe - Dark, Angst, Assassin-turned-Tycoon Kuvira, Canon Compliant Until the Season Finale of ATLA, Civil War, Espionage, F/F, F/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Republic City has a Vegas-style Strip, Slow Burn, Violence, We pick and choose what we want from canon and dispose of the rest, princess korra, star-crossed lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-15 02:40:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28931145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebluestspirit/pseuds/thebluestspirit
Summary: The heir to the Southern Water Tribe throne decides to hustle a hustler after a few drinks, unknowingly setting off a chain of events that will shake up her world as she knows it.Meanwhile, The Great Uniter decides to head home after a long day of dealing with the day-to-day hustle of being the owner of most of The Republic City Strip, not knowing that her past is closer than she thinks.Then, just like the stars, they collide.—Or, it’s 179 AG, Avatar Aang is still alive, and a cold war wages on in the Earth Kingdom. A motley crew of old friends, new friends, and unexpected allies must come together to maintain the balance of the world— by any means necessary.A Korvira story with a touch of Zutara and Tokka.
Relationships: Korra/Kuvira (Avatar), Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 10





	what happens in republic city (won’t stay in republic city)

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the plot bunny that ran away with my heart. For the sake of context, Korra is twenty-six and Kuvira is twenty-seven. 
> 
> I also don’t own any of this.

The Crown Princess of the Southern Water Tribe had once again allowed her mouth to write a check her ass couldn’t cash. 

This really hadn’t been Korra’s intention when she decided to grab a drink after pro-bending practice, and yet here she is, scrambling to collect a pile of money she doesn’t need after hustling some dudes who need it even less. She honestly just wanted one drink— one drink before heading back to the hotel room she called home. Alone. 

Alone, because she still hasn’t found the right time to casually mention to her teammates, who just happen to be her only friends on this entire continent, that she’s literally royalty and therefore completely loaded. She also may have left out that she currently lives in the penthouse of the swankiest hotel on the Republic City Strip. 

In fact, they think she lives on the other side of The Strip in a tiny one-bedroom apartment with super annoying neighbors who are always in her business. Bolin and Mako had cringed at her “tough break,” and now she has no choice but to die with the lie. 

Or grow a spine.

Whatever. 

Korra wouldn’t risk being caught in one of the upscale bars on The Strip when her only income was technically what she made through pro-bending, which wasn’t enough to afford both overpriced cocktails and the rent she should, hypothetically, be paying, so she’d taken a cab to a shitty dive bar in the neighborhood she supposedly lived in. It was run down, showing signs of aging and a lack of proper upkeep, but the lights were dim and the sign above the shelves of liquor said the drinks were cheap, so she wouldn’t judge. Most of the wooden tables were taken, so she’d grabbed a stool at the bar, waving over the barman and ordering her usual. 

When he’d sat the shot in front of her, she downed it with zero hesitation and signaled for another. The whiskey was all bottom shelf and it tasted like gasoline, but she didn’t care. He refilled her glass and she’d tipped it back just as quick as the first. She was exhausted and angry at herself for making it to where she had to live a double life for no reason, and for being too much of a coward to do anything about it. 

When she’d sat her empty glass back down, he’d just poured her another, and Korra lifted the glass towards him in a pathetic “cheers!” before knocking it back too. The warmth from the spicy liquor was beginning to envelop her like a blanket, and she sighed. 

Practice had been more grueling than usual, and constantly having to filter everything that left her mouth was stifling. She’d come to Republic City so she wouldn’t _have_ to do that for awhile, but she’d begun to see why the fortune teller with the weird hair had told her that “her future was filled with struggle and anguish, most of it self-inflicted,” when the Fire Ferrets had ended up in her shop after a few beers one night. They had all laughed at the time, but she couldn’t help but notice how alarmingly true it was. 

_Ugh, poor little rich girl._

Korra was pulled out of her sulking when she heard some commotion from a table behind her. She turned slightly and watched as some ugly fucker in a tacky suit easily destroyed a scrawny man in an arm wrestling match, having scammed the sucker out of at least fifty yuans. Rolling her eyes, she scoffed at the sight before noticing her glass had been refilled. Rather than shooting it, she adjusted herself on her barstool so she could rest her back against the counter and watch the growing spectacle while nursing her drink. A few other tables had tuned in as well, cheering as the dude hustled fool after fool out of some pretty decent coin. 

Because that’s what he was doing— hustling folks too drunk to turn down a challenge and too drunk to notice he was cheating. If there was anything that could make her feel better right then, it was knowing that at least she didn’t suck as much as _that_ guy. 

But the knowledge did little to quell her growing irritation at the unfairness of it all. 

The cheering crowd didn’t help, either. 

In retrospect, she probably should have stuck with the whole “just one drink” thing she’d told herself when she set out tonight, as booze has a tendency to take her normal state of being to new and obscene heights, which becomes rather problematic when her normal state of being is _completely hating herself while also fully believing that she could fight a spirit and win._

And maybe it was the whiskey, or maybe it was just the ever-present rage that simmered just below the surface of her skin, or perhaps even a mixture of all of the above, but as she dropped enough money onto the bar to pay her bill twice over and slid off her barstool, she realized she didn’t care much for the reason anyway. 

Korra just wanted a fight. 

She’d pushed through the small crowd with ease, and grabbed who would have been the next victim by the back of his collar, flinging him back into the throng of people. She pointedly ignored their booing and dropped herself into the empty seat, leaning forward with her elbows resting atop her spread knees, hands dangling loosely between them. 

The confused chattering of the crowd had nothing on the confusion contorting the hustler’s shiny, pale face. Korra studied him for a moment, watching his confusion grow into annoyance, allowing a smirk to pull at the corner of her mouth. He broke their stare-down first. 

“You lost, girl?” He asked rudely, his gravelly voice somehow even uglier than the rest of him. 

The spectators “ooooh’d” and she scowled. 

“Can’t say I am,” she said airily, tilting her head and narrowing her eyes, “just noticed your little streak and thought I’d break it.”

The asshole had the audacity to laugh along with the crowd, and it took every ounce of willpower she had not to punch him right in his sweaty face. 

Still chuckling, he waved his hand at her dismissively. “You thought wrong, now get outta here so the adults can play.” 

Korra snorted and leaned back in her seat, resting an elbow on the chair back and slouching casually. She ignored the murmurs of agreement around her. “Wow,” she drawled, the alcohol spurring her on, “I didn’t expect you to be such a little bitch.” 

She smirked arrogantly as the crowd “OHHH’d,” enjoying the fury ripping through Sweaty Asshole’s greasy features. 

_Men are such babies._

“You wanna go toe-to-toe with me, little girl?” He asked threateningly, and she flashed him a vicious smile while she pulled a wad of crumpled bills from each of her pockets, and slammed them onto the table. 

“Thought you’d never ask.” 

He glared at her as he tipped his head towards two equally disgusting men sitting nearby that Korra hadn’t noticed before. The bald one pulled a black leather briefcase from beneath his seat and laid it on the table. Popping the metal tabs, he opened the lid and pulled something out that she couldn’t see from her seat. Closing the lid, he sat the mystery item onto Sweaty Asshole’s open palm, and she realized she was looking at a stack of bills so crisp they still had the currency strap on. 

It was then that her gut started sending out red alerts, but she ignored each one, even more pissed off now knowing that people with a briefcase full of money were really out here hustling people. Besides, she was Crown Princess Korra, daughter of Chieftain Tonraq and Chieftess Senna of the Southern Water Tribe. She was a waterbending master, one of only three masters in the world to be given that title from the Fire Lady herself. Three assholes in a dumpy no-name bar were less than nothing to her. 

He tossed the neat stack onto the edge of the table and swept her loose bills into a pile alongside it before saying, “sudden death round, winner takes all.” 

Korra grinned and placed her elbow on the table, palm turned in. “Let’s do this.” 

The crowd whooped and clapped as she watched him place his elbow on the table, mirroring her posture almost exactly except for a few nearly imperceptible differences. 

If she ever saw Toph again, she would literally katow to her in thanks for teaching her everything she knew about scamming. Spirits, she would happily risk a rock to the throat if she could hug her, too. 

Toph had explained the altered stance a nonbending scammer could use to give themselves an advantage over most opponents. They plant their feet somewhat unnaturally and angle their bodies and their hands just slightly, which— thanks to something about physics that Chief Sokka had tried and failed to explain once— allowed them to trounce just about anyone. 

And to a sucker, the scammer looks totally normal while they do it. 

The memories almost made her laugh out loud because Korra might have been a lot of things, but a sucker sure as shit wasn’t one of them. 

Extending her arm, she lined her palm up with his, a down-right predatory smile on her face. 

Observation wasn’t the only thing she’d picked up from the greatest earthbender in the world. And thanks to her, the hustler was about to get hustled. 

Korra closed her eyes and breathed deeply, blocking out all the hype from their audience. She concentrated on the push and pull of her chi, on the paths it followed through her body. Latching onto the energy, she focused on her arm, pushing more of her chi to flow through her hand. When she opened her eyes, she felt the boost to her strength. When she folded her fingers around Sweaty Asshole’s even sweatier palm, the adrenaline and the alcohol made her feel invincible.

Then Bald Asshole shouted, “go!” 

It was over before anyone could blink. 

In less than a second, Korra had smashed the damp hand of her opponent into the table. 

And in less than a second after that, chaos ensued. 

Sweaty Asshole is shrieking as he snatches his hand from her grip and cradles it against his chest. Confused shouts ring out from the crowd as they trip over themselves in an attempt to get out of the immediate area. Korra blanches and starts stammering apologies but she can barely hear herself over all the noise and those red alerts she’d been ignoring trigger her flight response, putting her on her feet, ready to flee. 

She snatches the neat stack of new bills as well as her crumpled ones, quickly stuffing them into the deep pockets of her blue sweats. Two-hundred yuans richer and suddenly not even a little bit repentant as to the means in which she acquired them, she tries to stealthily disappear into the last of the flood of people headed for the exit. 

She’s only a few steps from freedom when someone shouts, “no one hustles the Agni Kai’s!”

That was her only warning to duck out of the way of a decent sized fireball that’d been lobbed at her head. 

_Shit._

Turning back, Korra finds herself looking down to make eye contact with the third member of what turned out to be a whole ass Triad, who is also a lot shorter than she thought he was. 

She tries so hard not to laugh, but this grown ass man with an obviously receding hairline probably only sits at eye level with her chest and she’s just a little drunk and very high on adrenaline at the moment. 

It helps that his fists are encased in flames, though.

_Fuck, I need to stop drinking._

“Listen... that was my bad,” she says sheepishly, rubbing the back of her neck, “sometimes I just don’t know my own strength!” 

Short Asshole’s only response is shooting another fire punch at her that she easily sidesteps. Defiantly, she says, “hey, you don’t need to be doing all that, alright? I said it was my bad!” 

“You’re in over your head here, bitch,” Short Asshole growls. Bald Asshole abandons Sweaty Asshole to join the confrontation, fire igniting in his palms.

_Fuck de-escalation, I guess._

Korra moves into a bending stance and cracks her knuckles. “You know, I don’t think I am,” she says with faux-thoughtfulness, “but you might be.” 

Their faces twist with fury and they both start throwing fire punches at her, and all she can do is smile mercilessly as she reaches down to uncork her waterskin.

Except her hand meets the fabric of her pants instead of soft leather. 

_No no no no no no no-_

She doesn’t have her fucking waterskins.

If her stomach could have fallen out of her ass, it would have. 

She quickly dodges the incoming flames and searches for water but only finds booze, and she knows she can’t fight with that unless she wants to burn down the building. 

If Lady Katara were here, she would freeze Korra to a tree. 

The Assholes see Korra’s predicament and take full advantage, volleying punch after punch of flames that she has to tuck and roll to avoid. Jumping to her feet and ducking the onslaught, she makes a break for the exit, ripping the door open and blowing through it onto the dark streets of downtown Republic City like a hurricane. She takes off in a sprint towards The Strip, wanting to put as much distance between herself and the Triads as quickly as she can. 

_FUCK._

She was supposed to be heading back in a cab tonight, as the bar is a few miles from her hotel, and she hadn’t wanted to drink and drive, or ride, technically, by taking Naga. She hates herself for going to the bar in the first place at this point, and as her heart thunders in her chest and her feet slap the stone beneath her, she swears to any listening spirits that she will never hustle another person for as long as she lives _if she can just get to the Four Elements lobby_. 

Known as, or at least advertised as, “The Crown Jewel of the Republic City Strip,” it sits right at the halfway point of the miles-long street. Korra had appreciated the location ever since she’d arrived in the city, preferring to be in the middle of the hustle and bustle with a view of the water and within blocks of the Pro-bending Arena. Now that she’s at least a mile into her impromptu cardio session and hearing the clomping footsteps of her pursuers gaining on her, she adds its location to the list of reasons why she currently hates herself.

  1. _Lying to her friends_
  2. _Going to a bar off The Strip_
  3. _Hustling a group of Agni Kai Triads_
  4. _Sucking at de-escalation techniques_
  5. _Leaving her waterskins in her suite_
  6. _Living in a suite so far away oh my spirits_



Cursing, she scans her surroundings before making an abrupt turn down a side street. Relief floods her consciousness when she sees it has several alleyways, and as her head swivels to look down each of them, she finds one that leads behind the buildings on the main drag she’d just turned off of. Diving towards it, she almost loses her footing _because these boots aren’t made for running a fucking marathon_ but rights herself and sends the spirits a silent _thank you_ for the few months of pro-bending that had greatly improved her balance and grace in ways beyond anything she had learned as a princess.

As she continues down the alley, Korra chances a look behind her, and for a moment she thinks she might have lost her tail. She knows better than to stop running, but she does allow herself a small smirk. 

That promptly turns into a grimace when the two assholes round the corner. 

Korra briefly wonders how these guys have managed to keep up with her when she’s probably half their age and an actual pro-athlete, but she pushes the thought aside as she exits the alley. Her lungs ache and she tries to ignore the pain, cruising back out onto the main drag that will eventually turn into The Strip. She doesn’t recognize her surroundings yet and while she can see the glowing lights in the distance, she figures she still has at least another mile, maybe two, to go. 

_I’m never lying, drinking, or hustling ever again._

Traffic is steadily starting to pick up the closer she gets, and she barely misses being clipped by a bright red Satomobile at a four-way stop that she obviously doesn’t stop at, but she flips them off anyway because she’s too pissed not to. The white noise of the ever-present crowd is growing and Korra realizes she can’t hear the Triads anymore, though it brings her little comfort. Her chest is on fire and her legs are screaming that _they_ _will not make it another however many fucking blocks_. 

Real panic is setting in as her body tires, knowing she isn’t truly in the clear until she makes it to the other side of the Four Elements’ revolving doors. She wills her legs to go just a little further, and she swipes at the sweat on her forehead with the back of her arm. 

_Wait—_

Water! Her heart lifts despite how little there is, and she bends it together, clutching it for dear life. If her legs give out, at least she’ll be able to put up somewhat of a fight. 

Maybe Lady Katara won’t freeze her to a tree after all. 

Or, well, she might at least unfreeze her afterwards. 

Korra is within a few blocks now, weaving in and out of groups of people and Satomobiles, slowing with each step but pushing through the pain. 

She bends more sweat from her face, taking her eyes off the street for just a moment—

—And promptly collides with ice cold steel. 

* * *

As she throws open the door of her green Satomobile Sportster, The Great Uniter of the Republic City Strip once again finds herself thankful to be a master metalbender. 

Kuvira had been on her way back to her suite at the Four Elements, wanting nothing more than a hot shower and a stiff drink after the unfulfilling day she had. It had been four years since her untimely departure from Zafou and her purchase of much of the real estate on the strip, and while she was grateful, she was tired. For four years she had worked day and night to transform an old, dusty road into a wonder to behold, the beautiful buildings born from stone and steel, the heights of which soar high above the Republic City skyline and the lights, they say, the moon can see from her place in the sky. They illuminate the luxurious hotels and casinos, the restaurants and shops, and her most prized accomplishment- the hotel’s glorious expanse of choreographed fountains.

Her thoughts were interrupted as she was about to pull onto The Strip, a flash of blue slamming into her passenger door. From the sound alone she knew it had left a dent, but she was less concerned with that as she put the Sportster in park. She just hoped it hadn’t also scratched the paint. 

Stepping out into the cool night air, she sees a crowd forming on the corner sidewalk as she makes her way around the hood. It comes as no surprise as people from all four nations flock to The Strip in masse to experience everything she built, as well as what she didn’t, like the Pro-bending Arena, various cultural museums, and other such tourist attractions. But large groups of tourists can always be found on The Strip itself, as much of it is open day and night, and anything even remotely interesting will draw an audience from those nearby.

Clad in a variation of her typical uniform, it doesn’t take long for this particular audience to recognize her. They quickly part as they take in what they can- her dark hair pinned neatly into a bun at the base of her neck, a black wool overcoat over a slim-fit olive green turtleneck blouse tucked into even slimmer heather grey trousers, tucked into black knee-high boots. She scowls at them as they slink away, murmuring amongst themselves as they duck and weave around each other trying to catch a better glimpse of The Republic City Strip’s infamous magnate. 

_Zaofu,_ she hears from behind her. 

_The Beifong’s_ , from somewhere to her left. 

_The Great Uniter_ , whispered in terrified reverence.

Unsurprisingly, the moniker swiftly thins the remaining crowd and Kuvira registers that the _something_ that hit her vehicle is actually _someone_ , a woman in blue, holding her obviously dislocated shoulder and cursing loudly. Kuvira wastes no time scanning the remaining stragglers for threats, and upon finding none, she moves to kneel beside the prone woman. She must notice her presence, because Kuvira is suddenly looking into bright blue eyes. 

“You ran into my Sportster,” Kuvira says dryly. 

She watches as the woman blinks at her owlishly before shooting up and surveying their surroundings not unlike she had just done. Kuvira flinches away from the sudden movement, automatically readying her defenses, before the woman turns back to her with a ridiculously disarming crooked grin. Kuvira is taken aback and she drops her control over the metal beneath her coat, raising an eyebrow in question as she waits for her to speak. 

“Yeah… sorry about that,” the woman says awkwardly, still gripping her shoulder. “I was kind of in a rush.” 

Kuvira only stares at her, having not yet decided whether she is amused or annoyed, before glancing up and glaring at each of the remaining stragglers until they disperse from the corner as well. 

Satisfied, Kuvira turns her attention back to the injured woman sitting in front of her, who is now openly staring at her. Leaning somewhat towards amusement now, the corner of her mouth pulls into a tiny smirk and she asks, “did you happen to hit your head as well?”

Her eyes widen and she quickly appears to look at anything other than Kuvira’s smug face. 

“No, uh, nope, just the shoulder I think,” the woman says, her voice tinged with embarrassment. 

Kuvira stifles the mirthful laugh bubbling in her throat, and proceeds to give her a quick once over for any other glaringly obvious injuries anyway. In the process, she notices how finely made her clothing is, despite being rather filthy and damp. She smells fire whiskey as well as something else, something overwhelmingly familiar, but she can’t quite place it. These thoughts aren’t prudent to the matter at hand, however, so she files them away and continues her assessment. Finding nothing else out of place, she lets out a relieved sigh and is just about to offer assistance in getting her up off the ground when she looks back at her face. 

A startled gasp almost escapes her lips but she bites it back. In a matter of a few moments, the woman has grown pale and unnaturally still, no longer clenching her shoulder or even muttering curses. 

Concern surges through her as she asks, “are you alright?”

The woman only nods slowly from where she sits on the sidewalk. Unsettled by the response, Kuvira’s composure slips for a moment as she frantically searches her body for injuries again, but still finds nothing that could have possibly sent her into the state of shock she appears to be in. She glances up, again scanning their surroundings, still seeing no obvious threats. Silencing the screaming voice in her mind that sounds too much like her savior, she swallows her overwhelming apprehension, and tears off her glove, slamming her palm onto the stone. 

The ground reveals nothing but her rapid heartbeat and unsteady breathing. 

That become more rapid and more unsteady as the woman looks between her eyes and her bare hand. 

_No, fuck, fuck, fuck-_

“They never said you could-” the woman gasps as Kuvira shoots to her feet, “how did you- you’re not supposed to know-”

She recoils as the woman staggers to her feet, hastily retreating backwards to her Sportster and shoving her hand back into her glove. Kuvira keeps her hands up in front of her as she moves, desperately trying to convey that she does not wish to do her harm. 

“But you’re her,” the woman whispers, “The Great Uniter, you’re... Kuvira.”

The woman says her name as though she speaks of an evil spirit, a mythical villain, a scary story to tell misbehaving children. Her eyes close involuntarily and her chest aches as she longs for that to be the truth, for everything they say about her to be nothing more than an old wives tale, but it’s not. 

Kuvira is not just a legend. 

She was the monster that came in the night. 

A monster she worked so hard to destroy, whose mask she was now slipping back over her face. 

“I am,” her voice is strong as she aims to put the fear of the spirits themselves into this woman, “and you would do well to keep that in mind before you so much as whisper one word about what you think you saw here tonight.” She bends the dent from her passenger door without breaking eye contact, and she sees the woman’s throat bob as she swallows. 

Content that her warning will be heeded and not wanting to be in this woman’s presence for a moment longer, she turns on her heel and makes her way back around the hood, slipping into the driver's seat of her Sportster. She thinks she hears, “wait!” as she slams the door, but she will do no such thing as she turns the key and takes a moment to think as the engine roars to life. 

Kuvira was no stranger to her reputation in Republic City. She was folklore to these people- an assassin, a torturer, the muscle behind the wealthiest family in the world. Rumors about her horrific crimes flooded the city not long after they identified the anonymous magnate who appeared seemingly overnight, bringing tourism, and its income, to the fifth nation. She was a monster, but she was also a brilliant tactician, and she turned her reputation into armor. She never had to worry about disloyalty from the various people she employed, or the business owners whose restaurants and boutiques thrived under the banners of her resorts, because they were absolutely terrified of her wrath. 

It was lonely, but it kept her alive, and she owed it to the people who saved her to keep it that way. 

_They will come for you_ , her saviors had warned after smuggling her out of Zaofu in the middle of the night, _and you must remember_ **_everything_ ** _you’ve been taught, for it is the only thing standing between you and execution._

Which meant, among other things, keeping her ability to use seismic sense a secret. 

And she had, she had never so blatantly disregarded their warning in the four years since she had mastered the ability and she wants to scream as the recklessness of her actions sinks in. She feels like she’s going to explode when she considers the potential consequences both she and her saviors would face should her ability be revealed, all because she felt- what? Simple concern for the life of another human being shouldn’t have made her so irresponsible, so how did she end up here?

Kuvira doesn’t know, doesn’t think she wants to know as she recalls how at ease the woman’s crooked grin had left her, so she aggressively launches her Sportster into drive and lets off the break. 

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees a cherry red Satomobile fly past her and slam on its breaks, immediately blocking the entire intersection. 

When it doesn’t move after a few moments, she lays on the horn.

When it still doesn’t move, she doesn’t think this night can get any fucking worse. She throws her door open again, growling in frustration, and steps back out onto the shadowy street with every intention of picking up the offending blockade and hurling it across The Strip. 

_Her_ strip.

As she starts towards the Satomobile, she realizes the woman in blue is still standing on the corner, except now she is entirely focused on the tacky vehicle blocking her only way home. 

Ignoring her, she approaches it until the bright lights from the surrounding buildings bring the details of the car into sharp detail. 

Triads. 

Agni Kai Triads.

Agni Kai Triads on _her_ strip. 

It takes every ounce of willpower Kuvira has not to crush the metal into something completely unrecognizable with its occupants still inside. 

When she stops seeing red, the disgusting Satomobile is still loitering in the intersection, and it’s exhaust fumes are fighting the oxygen in the night air for space between the two buildings. Her patience has long since run dry, so she shifts into horse stance, preparing to lift a boulder from the paved street and slam it into their windshield when she sees three of the four doors open, three men stepping out. 

She doesn’t come out of her stance, sure that she is the only reason why Triads would stop here, until she realizes that they probably can’t even see her from where she waits in the shadows. Furthermore, their focus is solely on the woman who holds her deepest secret in the palm of her one good hand, and for reasons unknown, she finds herself wanting to know why. She can’t tell from this distance if she’s dealt with these particular vermin before, but that doesn’t matter. 

No one in Republic City, except maybe the Avatar, could best her. 

Kuvira watches as the Triads move to stand together, and she notices the woman on the corner looking between her and them in blatant terror. 

_Wait, no,_ Kuvira does a double-take, _not terror._ The woman’s mouth is moving, and although it may be dark, her message is perfectly clear.

_Help me._

The same feeling of overwhelming concern from earlier swells in her chest, so she slips the monster's mask back over her face, and strides out from beyond the shadows, into the harsh city lights. Once the Triads take note of her presence, she bends a blade from one of the steel vambraces strapped to her forearms that lay beneath her coat. 

Predictably, they freeze. 

Because although metalbending isn’t exactly rare anymore, thanks to Master Toph Beifong, most of the metalbenders in Republic City work for the Republic City Police Department, where Triads are very much welcome- so long as they’re in handcuffs.

Kuvira is an extremely notable exception, as there is only one blade wielding rumored-assassin-turned-real-estate-tycoon in Republic City who also just so happens to own eighty percent of the Republic City Strip. 

“Do we have a problem here, gentlemen?” Kuvira purrs, purposely shifting her wrist so the lights reflect menacingly off of the sharp steel. 

“N-no, Great Uniter, we were just—“ the tallest one stammers before Kuvira cuts him off, figuratively. 

For now. 

“You were just trespassing. What I want to know is _why_.” 

Kuvira takes a step towards the trembling Agni Kai’s. They instinctively step back, and for a moment she is thankful for her reputation as The Great Uniter. They exchange glances amongst themselves, before the short, balding one speaks up. “We apologize for trespassing. We were only trying to recover what was stolen from us, but we would be willing to let it go if you will allow us to take our leave now. We swear not to return.” 

She’s given only a second to regard the frightened rats before she hears, “I didn’t steal shit from you! I won and you lost and I apologized for what happened afterwards! But no, that wasn’t enough for you and when you realized I didn’t have any water, you attacked me two-on-one! And then you had the fucking audacity to chase me across the city like a bunch of psychos!” 

Kuvira knows she’s openly staring at the woman still holding her dislocated shoulder, taking in her heaving chest and her eyes, now alight with ferocity. But an answer to a question she didn’t know she was asking is forming somewhere deep within her consciousness.

_Waterbender—_

Shoving the thoughts aside, Kuvira tsks at the Triads, shaking her head in disappointment. “You seek my forgiveness, yet you lie to my face. I find it difficult to believe that a woman of such stature would need to steal from gutter rats, so let me offer an alternative version of the events that led you to _my_ strip.” 

_Such stature—_

Stepping between them and the injured woman, Kuvira chances a quick glance over her shoulder, holding her gaze for a moment before whipping her head back towards the rodents. She’s shamelessly satisfied by their startled flinching, and Kuvira folds her hands behind her back, her blade just long enough to remain visible. She scrutinizes them for a long moment, allowing them to become increasingly terrified by her unwavering stare before she begins her hypothesis, contempt coloring her tone. 

“You were in a bar. You played a game in which bets were placed, and the winner received a prize, probably of the monetary variety. You three,” she gestures with her bladed arm in a thinly veiled threat, “lost to this woman,” Kuvira tips her head towards her, “probably in front of witnesses, and your fragile masculinities couldn’t bear the humiliation.” 

She observes the anger sweeping through their faces and drinks it in like cold water on a hot day. She continues, “and in your humiliation, you probably decided that she ‘needed to be taught a lesson,’” she spits the last words at them like acid, “so you chased her through Republic City, in the dark, like the menaces to society that you are, and somehow you ended up here, facing my judgment. Frankly,” she says thoughtfully, “I think you should be cut down where you stand.” 

Her smile is cold as the blood drains from their faces. 

“However,” she says, after letting that fear sink in just a little, as a treat, “my safety was never in question with you this evening. Which means, unfortunately, that I do not get to decide your punishment for anything other than trespassing on my strip. Your other transgressions are in her hands, though I won’t be leaving until you’ve come to an agreement.”

And with that, she turns to the side so each of them can see the others, though she remains ready to intervene immediately should it be necessary. The woman has moved from her place on the corner, now just out of arm's reach. 

The realization hits her like a maglev train. 

_She smells like citrus and peonies—_

Kuvira stays perfectly stone faced despite her heart trying to escape from her chest. 

_That scent only exists in one place—_

She discreetly bends another blade from her remaining vambrace behind her back. 

_Princess Korra._

“This was all just one big misunderstanding, right, fellas?” The ridiculous crooked grin has returned to the Princess’s face but Kuvira can’t focus on anything other than the visceral need to _get her the fuck away from here_. 

_If anything happens to her, I will never forgive myself._

The final Triad speaks up quickly, breaking through Kuvira’s racing thoughts. “Yes, of course, Miss, just a misunderstanding. We sincerely apologize.” 

Kuvira bristles at the disrespectful title, looking discreetly at the Princess, but she seems completely unbothered, if not rather relieved. Kuvira raises an eyebrow at the Princess’s relaxed, almost smug countenance, and she stares right back at Kuvira for a long moment. Kuvira schools her expression into one of neutrality, as though she is carved from stone. 

The Princess clears her throat when she looks back towards the rodents. “I accept your apologies,” she says rather haughtily before a cocky grin settles on her face, “a little evening jog is good for me.”

Kuvira finds herself caught between annoyance and amusement at the Princess’s antics again, but the fierce protectiveness she feels is unwavering. 

_Protectiveness- of course, that’s how I ended up here._

Once again stepping between the Triads and the Princess, Kuvira drops both of her bladed arms to her sides. They reflexively reel back from her once more, their backs hitting the red metal of their vehicle. 

“If you ever step foot on my strip again,” she growls, “I will not hesitate to slice your limbs from your bodies. Get out of my sight.” 

The Agni Kai’s fall into shallow bows before throwing themselves back into their Satomobile. The tires squeal as the driver floors it, taking off back towards safer territory. 

She bends her blades back into her vambraces and folds her hands behind her back, inhaling deeply and exhaling audibly in an attempt to steady her frayed nerves.

The Great Uniter turns and settles her gaze on Crown Princess Korra of the Southern Water Tribe. 

Also known as the Very Important Princess living in the penthouse suite of her Four Elements hotel, who now knows more about her than almost everyone on the planet.

“Your Highness.”

“Great Uniter.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments greatly appreciated!


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